Adams' Song
by alienated lycanthrope
Summary: Adam hears a song on the radio that brings back memories of times passed, and loves lost


Hey where did we go,  
  
Days when the rains came  
  
Down in the hollow,  
  
Playin' a new game,  
  
Laughing and a running hey, hey  
  
Skipping and a jumping  
  
In the misty morning fog with  
  
Our hearts a thumpin' you  
  
My brown eyed girl,  
  
You my brown eyed girl.  
  
Whatever happened  
  
To Tuesday and so slow  
  
Going down the old mine  
  
With a transistor radio  
  
Standing in the sunlight laughing,  
  
Hiding behind a rainbow's wall,  
  
Slipping and sliding  
  
All along the water fall, with you  
  
My brown eyed girl,  
  
You my brown eyed girl.  
  
Do you remember when we used to sing,  
  
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da  
  
So hard to find my way,  
  
Now that I'm all on my own.  
  
I saw you just the other day,  
  
My how you have grown,  
  
Cast my memory back there, Lord  
  
Sometime I'm overcome thinking 'bout  
  
Making love in the green grass  
  
Behind the stadium with you  
  
My brown eyed girl  
  
You my brown eyed girl  
  
Do you remember when we used to sing  
  
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da.  
  
--"Brown-eyed girl" by Van Morrison  
  
We were about an hour outside of New York, and I was feeling fine. We'd made good time the last two days, and I figured at this rate, we'd be home in time to catch the evening news.  
  
The car was suddenly filled with the sound of rushing air. I glanced in the rearview mirror; Ally was getting restless in the backseat. She had unfastened her seatbelt and was sticking her head out the window of the BMW, her long raven-coloured hair flying every which way as she waved at the passing cars. I had to smile, she was so adorable.  
  
"Come on honey, sit back down and do up the window; it's all smoggy out there," Chris said, half-turning around and tugging at Ally's leg. Ally eventually obliged, returning to her seat and rolling up the window sadly.  
  
I sympathised with my daughter. We'd been driving all day, and I was eager to get out of the car myself. "Just think Ally," I said as I turned off the freeway and onto the #7, which would eventually lead us back to Westchester. "We're almost home, and as soon as we get back, we'll go to Aunt Laura's and pick up Ezekiel, I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you."  
  
Ally hopped in her seat at the mention of her beloved cat. "Oh dad, I've missed him so much! Do you think he'll be mad we left him behind? What if he doesn't remember me?"  
  
"He'll be fine sweetie," Chris broke in soothingly. "It'd take Ezekiel a lot more than a month to forget about you. You're his best friend."  
  
Ally smiled at her mother's words, but she still seemed worried. I caught her eye in the rear view mirror and stuck out my tongue, wiggled my ears, and crossed my eyes until she laughed. "That's better. Now how about a little music?"  
  
I reached over and turned on the radio, flipping through the channels, trying to find something Ally would like. "Ooooh!" she cried. "Stop here dad, I love this song!"  
  
No sooner were the words out of her mouth, when a powerful wave of recognition came over me. Of all the gin joints in all the world, I thought to myself. How my daughter came to recognise that song, I had no idea; she certainly never heard it in our house. I remembered a time when hearing that song could turn my knees to Jell-O in an instant... I was sixteen years old. It was the summer after sophomore year, and I'd just got my driver's license, so I was finally able to drive the car my parents had given me for my birthday a few months ago...  
  
***  
  
"I was down at the New Amsterdam, staring at this yellow-haired girl. Mr. Jones strikes up a conversation with a black-haired flamenco dancer. She dances while his father plays guitar, she's suddenly beautiful. And we all want something beautiful. Man, I wish I was beautiful. So come dance this silence down through the morning, sha la la la la. Cut up, Maria! Show me some of those Spanish dances. Pass me a bottle, Mr. Jones. Believe in me. Help me believe in anything, cause I wanna be someone who believes."  
  
Eighty miles an hour down the freeway in a brand new Jeep, each passing moment putting more and more distance between us and the rest of the world. My shirt was flapping and billowing like a sail in the wind, and my hair kept getting in my eyes, but I couldn't stop smiling. In the seat beside me, Charlie was singing and dancing to the music that poured forth from the stereo like liquid fire, engulfing everything it touched; I loved this song.  
  
"This is the best song in the world! Come on Adam, sing with me!"  
  
I shook my head. "No way, you know I can't sing for shit." But the next thing I knew I was singing, loudly and tunelessly, as we tore down the road:  
  
"Mr. Jones and me tell each other fairy tales. We stare at the beautiful women. She's looking at you. Ah, no no, she's looking at me. Smiling in the bright lights, coming through in stereo. When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely."  
  
As I sang, I knew that this was now our song and that for the rest of my life, whenever I heard it, I would think of Charlie. I was so busy doing just that, in fact, that I nearly missed the turnoff I had to make.  
  
We had decided that a picnic would be the perfect way to take advantage of the newfound freedom afforded to us by the Jeep. I asked Charlie to let me handle choosing the site, as well as the food preparation (I got Portman to help). I had the perfect place in mind, right beside this gorgeous little waterfall in the middle of the Wanaskawen reserve.  
  
After parking the car, I got the basket and blanket out of the trunk and handed them to Charlie while I set the car alarm.  
  
"Holy shit! You didn't tell me it beeped!"  
  
"What are you talking about? It's just the alarm."  
  
Charlie reddened slightly and rubbed his neck. "I know... it's just that I always wanted a car with a beep-alarm when I was a kid."  
  
I laughed. "You know, you're such a little welfare case, it isn't even funny!"  
  
He gasped, pretending to be shocked. "What did you say? Hey, at least I don't look like a pansy in that alligator shirt!"  
  
"What?" I cried indignantly. "This is like, the top brand of golf shirt!"  
  
Charlie laughed, and swung his arm over my shoulders as we walked toward the trail that would take us to the picnic site. "You're the only person I know who thinks that's a good thing."  
  
We held the picnic on a large flat rock beside the waterfall, and it was the stuff of dreams. I even brought along strawberries and a bottle of champagne, though Charlie had never tried it before and said it tasted awful when he did. Though I said nothing, I was secretly annoyed by this, because I had gone to great lengths to get my hands on the damned thing. I know I could have asked Portman or Fulton, I'm sure at least one of them had a fake I.D. but I didn't want them hassling us about the details of our excursion. And so I spent 20 highly unpleasant minutes outside the liquor store (breaking curfew, I might add) until some guy accepted the $10 I gave him to boot for me. I felt so sleazy waiting outside while he made the purchase that I swore I'd never do it again; the next time I felt like trying to impress Charlie with booze, I'd just have to suffer through the Bashes teasings.  
  
All afternoon and deep into the evening we were there; I remember lying stretched out on the rock, my head in Charlie's lap while he fed me strawberries dipped in Cool Whip. He kept getting the stuff on my nose and then apologising as if it had been an accident, before offering to lick it off.  
  
We watched the sun set through the canopy of trees that hung over our heads; brilliant flashes of red poked through the branches; it looked as if the sky was on fire. The rock we were lying on was in the shallow end of the pool that was fed by the waterfall only a few feet away, and the sound of the water crashing and foaming against the rocks filled my senses.  
  
Charlie sighed happily. "Anyone who says that guys don't know shit about romance has never met my Adam. I mean, strawberries and champagne by a waterfall, you'd think you were trying to seduce me."  
  
I smiled sweetly and gave him that flirty, tilted chin look. "Maybe I am. Is it working?"  
  
"Given that that's not a pen in my pocket, what do you think?"  
  
"A pen? You don't give yourself enough credit."  
  
"Alright, how about a salami?"  
  
I laughed. "Much better."  
  
"You know that I'm falling irrevocably in love with you, right?"  
  
Ah, bliss! I met his eyes, and for a moment he was Bogart, and I was Bergman. "That's okay," I said softly. "As long as we're falling together."  
  
He sat up, took me in his arms, and gave me one of his trademark "Conway kisses," long and soft and deep, his tongue flirting gently with my own before dancing away out of reach. Even when our mouths parted, our eyes did not. He reached out and touched my cheek. "Here's looking at you, kid."  
  
My heart stopped dead in my chest, and for an instant, I couldn't breathe. How had he known? I stared into his eyes, my beautiful brown-eyed boy. He was everything I had ever dreamed of, and he was here. He was mine.  
  
And I thought it would last forever.  
  
***  
  
I eventually told my father about the two of us just after I turned 18. After I managed to muster up the courage, I thought it would leave Charlie and I free to be together for the rest of our lives, but instead, it was the beginning of the end.  
  
If my father had flipped out and forbidden me to see him again, or kicked me out of the house, I would have gone straight for Charlie and never let him go. But my father worked slowly. Sure, he swore he'd cut me off if I stayed with Charlie, but he also said it'd kill my mother if she found out, and while that may have been a slight exaggeration, I could see the truth in it as well. My mother had always wanted me to get married, and I knew that the prospect of never having any grandchildren would devastate her. Now, this fact alone would be enough to make me seriously doubt the future I had planned for Charlie and myself, but my father didn't stop there. He said I had to choose between a schoolyard crush, and a future in hockey, because there was no way I could ever have both.  
  
For months and months this carried on, and slowly but surely, he began to wear me down. I couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep, for when I did my dreams were filled with hockey and Charlie, Charlie and hockey. How could I give up one for the other? Why should I have to?  
  
The only time I let any of the Ducks in on what I was feeling was right before graduation. Everything in my life had reached a fever pitch: hockey, school, my relationship with Charlie, and my father's subtle attempts to destroy it. One day Fulton and Portman found me crying in my dorm, and refused to leave until I told them everything. Though they tried to be helpful and sympathetic, I could tell that they didn't understand my indecision at all.  
  
"Christ, Adam," Portman had said. "From where I'm standing, it's not much of a contest. You and Charlie are in love. You couldn't really throw that away, could you?"  
  
Fulton looked at me with genuine fear in his eyes. I supposed he could see how close I was to doing just that. "What you have to understand Adam, is that you're not making a choice between Charlie and hockey, because the two aren't mutually exclusive. You're making a choice between Charlie and life as a straight guy."  
  
"It's not just that," I protested. "My father--"  
  
Fulton snorted. "Your father? If he's trying to make you give up the best thing that ever happened to you, then he doesn't deserve the name."  
  
"Yeah," Portman put in. "I mean, why do you care what those fuckers think? Charlie and the Ducks, man, we're your real family."  
  
Was he right? I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore. "I'm just trying to think about the future here."  
  
Fulton shook his head. "Are you? Cause if so, you're not looking far enough ahead. Sure, it'd be easier to be straight, marry some rich dude's kid and have little rich babies, but do you really think that'll be enough for you? Just think it through before you decide, that's all I'm saying. I know it sounds stupid, but this is probably the major crossroads of your life here, Adam. Choose whichever way makes you happier, otherwise you'll spend the next 60 years wishing you'd done different."  
  
I always thought that Fulton was a lot smarter than he let on to the rest of the world, but it was this little speech that solidified that, though it wasn't until years later that I saw just how right he had been.  
  
***  
  
So here I am, ten years later. I'll be 29 in a few weeks, but everybody always says I look a lot younger than that. How did I get here? The New York Rangers drafted me right out of high school, which made my decision to leave Charlie a little easier. A lot easier in fact, because without hockey, I know I would have killed myself a dozen times during those first few months.  
  
Eighteen years old and playing in the NHL, it was a dream come true. I scored 24 goals that first season, and topped 50 points. I won the Calder trophy. Everything was perfect, as long as I was on the ice.  
  
Yet with each passing month, the hurt grew a little less, and four years later I got married to Chris. I'd known her since I was a kid; our fathers used to work together. She was a real nice girl, sweet, pretty, kind to animals, and she loved me a lot. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect teeth. She taught kindergarten until we got married.  
  
Soon after that, we had Ally. She was a bit of a wild card, that one. She didn't look a thing like me or Chris, nor any of our family. No one knew where her gypsy-thick black hair had come from, and the rest of her was equally as surprising. She was smart as hell for one thing. She had skipped kindergarten at her preschool teacher's suggestion, so she was starting grade two in the fall, though she was only six. She loved books and hockey and watching wrestling on TV. She was nothing like what I'd expected a daughter would be, but I didn't mind; I love her more than life.  
  
I had an amazing daughter, a lovely wife, I got paid millions to play hockey, and I was just on my way back from a month in Hawaii. I'd have to be crazy to want anything more. And yet... I thought about what Fulton had said about doing whatever made me happiest. Was I happy? Yes, I supposed I was; most of the time, anyway.  
  
It was hard to believe I hadn't seen Charlie since high school ended. Guy played for Toronto, so I saw him fairly often; I got together with him and Connie and their 5 kids whenever we visited each other's cities.  
  
It took Julie a few years in the juniors to convince everyone that she wasn't bound by her sex, but her outstanding record, as well as a couple of championships and an Olympic medal, finally did the trick. Now she was making waves in Chicago, breaking gender barriers with the same ease and aplomb with which she shattered goaltending records. If you can believe it, she was married to Kenny, who didn't seem to mind being the NHL's only "hockey husband."  
  
The Bash Brothers? They played for Vancouver, and were probably the most controversial players the league had ever seen; they were always a hot topic on any sports show, and with all the money they drew in, they were among the few athletes who deserved the exorbitant sums they made. Despite their prodigious talents, they were 22 before they joined the NHL, because they were openly gay and wouldn't sign any contract unless it stipulated that they couldn't be traded to different teams.  
  
Charlie played in the minors for a few years before he turned to coaching, as I knew he would. Now he was making headlines all over the place, coaching in the juniors. Lots of sportscasters were saying that the only thing that was keeping him out of the NHL was his sexuality. Many of the kids who played for him said he was the best coach they'd ever had. I didn't doubt it for an instant.  
  
The Ducks still got together once a year, flying in from all over the world to spend a week together in a lakeside cabin in Minnesota that they shared. I had never been to any of the reunions, though I still got an invitation every year. It was better this way, I thought to myself. Just let the past be the past. This was easier said than done, however, when our song was playing on the radio. So many memories were floating around it my head, and Charlie was the centre of every one: I remembered how much he'd meant to me, how he used to make me laugh, all the things I told him that I never could have told anyone else. And I gave it all away.  
  
I didn't regret my decision though, not really. I knew what I was doing, that I'd never find someone like Charlie again, but I made a choice, and now I'm living with it. The thing is... my life is calmer now. I'm happy in my own way, I suppose, I just have to think about it for a moment before I realise that. When I was with Charlie, I never had to think about it. I always knew exactly what I was feeling because he made me feel everything more strongly than I ever had before. Sure, I've never been as happy since as I was when I was with him, but how could I be? You can't spend your entire life wrapped in a fiery passion.  
  
But that persistent voice inside that was always dredging up the past kept asking me if maybe I couldn't live my life that way, after all. The Bash Brothers seemed to have done it; they were as gooey for each other now as they were in high school. What if I could have kept Charlie, and hockey, too? What if I could have had it all? But I couldn't think like that. That way madness lay.  
  
Instead, I thought about Charlie as I remembered him, young, gentle, and oh, so beautiful. Sometimes it made me sad to remember, but not always. I just listened to the music play, and as I thought of him, my first love, my only love, his name started pounding like a great bell in my chest. He'd been a beam of light, a rainbow that chased me down and took me on a journey through the sky, and no matter what happened now, my life was better for having known him.  
  
The years I spent as a Duck were the best ones of my life, and while I may never get that feeling back again, just having the memory of those days was enough.  
  
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I sang along:  
  
"Mr. Jones and me, staring at the video. When I look at the television, I want to see me staring right back at me. We all want to be big stars, but we don't know why, and we don't know how, but when everybody loves me, I'm gonna be just about as happy as can be. Mr. Jones and me, we're gonna be big stars..."  
  
"A penny for your thoughts."  
  
"Huh?" I turned around, and saw Chris, not Charlie, seated on the passenger side.  
  
"I've been married to you for almost seven years, and not once have I ever heard you sing."  
  
"It's just this song. I hadn't heard it since I was a kid, and it got me thinking, that's all."  
  
"What about?"  
  
I smiled, and turned my eyes back to the road before me. "Oh, just a boy I used to know."  
  
THE END  
  
*So, my first attempt at C/A, what do y'all think? Too sappy? I was sort of going for something that walked the line between joy and sadness; I hope I didn't overplay the joy part. Anyway, as you may have guessed by the intro, this piece was inspired by Van Morrison's Brown-Eyed Girl. There are enough similarities between the two that I figured I had to post the lyrics for those who didn't know this fabulous song. Everclear covered it a few years ago, and while their version is nowhere near as good, it begins with a new line that I made use of as well: "I hear a song, makes me think of a girl I used to know. I sing along when I hear it on the radio."  
  
My next fanfic is, as I mentioned at the end of BB in Love, an A/U story called A World Without Ducks. I've always been very interested in fate and destiny and all that, and this is what I think would happen if Bombay never got nabbed by the police. It's F/P, of course, and will chronicle the relationship that grows between the two when Portman moves to Fulton's school. Connie, Guy, Charlie, Adam and Jesse will be featured as well. My central idea is that something is not quite right with this world, and as a result, none of the characters are as at peace, if you will, with their lives as they were in the movies. Anyway, enough of that, the first chapter should be up in a week or two. Hope you like.  
  
This story is dedicated to Bottles and the elusive no banksie. Apart from their beta-ing my story, and writing some of the best Adam/Charlie stuff out there, I never would have written it in the first place if Bottles hadn't been bugging me for a little C/A.  
  
I have ideas for possible sequels to this, but I know they would only get back together somehow, and I really like how this one ended, so I'm not sure I want to fuck with that. Let me know what you think.  
  
Oh, by the way, is the term "boot" not synonymous with car trunk to most of you? How about "tuque?" My friend's family lives in Indiana, and she says no one there has any idea what one is. If not, what word do you use to describe the hats you wear when you're skiing or whatever? Just curious, Rachel says they say "knitted cap," but that just seemed too funny to be true.* 


End file.
